


playback

by Zekkass



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bondage, Control Kink, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, Fluff, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Voice Kink, discussed kinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 08:07:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8525320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zekkass/pseuds/Zekkass
Summary: "Without touching me," Prowl says, ever-so-cruel, "I want you to make me overload."





	

Jazz arches, a hand pressed between his legs, the other held back behind him on the berth, front bumper pushed out obscenely as he rocks his hips, playing music from his speakers to hide the revs of his engine.

::Prowl,:: he calls through the comms, tone laced with aroused undertones and amused overtones. ::Leave the datapads for half a cycle, take a break?::

::No.::

::Prowl. Please. I'm already running a charge, and I'd hate to have to finish myself off _alone.::_

There's a few nanokliks as Prowl considers it, the commlink kept open while Jazz waits, still slowly working his fingers in his valve. Whenever his charge begins to slip up too high he diffuses it, sending little zaps of electricity dancing across his berth before it's gone, his fingertips tingling with the maneuver.

If Prowl's actually busy he'll state what he's doing, and Jazz will of course leave him alone. If he isn't...

The comms are still open, and by now Jazz knows he's going to have a little fun with his favorite security mech.

::Love you too,:: he sends, along with a little laugh. ::How about you put that datapad down and tell me what your tac-comp's got for 'facing positions. Me on the berth, legs spread and on display for you - or bent over, aft in the air? Or - hey, you could lie on the berth, let me rub my valve against your doorwings - ::

::Jazz,:: Prowl says, tones clipped. Jazz smirks. ::I do not use my tactical computer for _interfacing situations.::_

::So how do you plan out our sessions?::

::Are you asking to be treated like a battlefield?::

::Actually - :: Jazz stops, thinking that over. That could be _terrifying,_ the way he's imagining it.

::Your sensory nodes would have to become tactical targets,:: Prowl supplies, and Jazz shudders all over, pinching his own outer node. ::The tactical goal: to hold all of them at once. Unfortunately, I can't perform that kind of scenario without some preparation. Do you want to wait?::

::Frag,:: Jazz says, pinching a little tighter, his spike twitching. ::Frag, no. Get in here. We'll set that up for some tag-team play with Red, alright?::

::Understood.::

The door opens, and Jazz looks up, optical band bright as Prowl crosses the room, standing in front of him and studying his pose. He seems unaffected, but there's that distinctive tilt to his doorwings that reads as inviting, and Jazz lets his legs fall further open, grinning as he lets go of his outer note and puts his hands on the berth.

"A'ight, Prowl, what do you have planned?"

"For an experiment," Prowl says, optics looking at his valve for a prolonged moment. "Turn off the music and stand up."

It goes off obediently, and Jazz hops up, eager to see what Prowl has in mind.

Prowl looks at him, nods approvingly, and lies on the berth, stretching out on his front and angling his doorwings so a specific mech _could_ sit on his back and rub his back, if he were invited to.

"Without touching me," Prowl says, ever-so-cruel, "I want you to make me overload."

Jazz immediately puts a hand on the berth next to Prowl just above his hip and swings himself over Prowl, one leg braced against the wall as he suspends himself over Prowl, positioned carefully so a twitch of Prowl's doorwings won't foul the game.

"Field play allowed?" Jazz asks, and Prowl tilts his head.

"Mild," he says. "I'm interested in hearing more of those scenarios you have planned."

Jazz chuckles, vents working to direct a gentle breeze of hot air across Prowl's back.

"I'd like to start with your doorwings," he says in a pleased purr. "Coat them in a conductive gel from Ratchet's kit and run a little charge through 'em, watch you squirm - " His grin widens as Prowl's doorwings quiver. Yeah, they can both imagine the way his overtuned sensors would send him right into an overload or four. "We'd have to be careful, maybe take some of your armor off so I don't melt your circuits."

Because, Primus knew, Prowl was a stickler for details and safety. If his armor came off it'd be precisely stacked not too far away so they could both jump up in the event of an emergency. Ratchet would be on call if there was a problem - as if he weren't already - and then and only then would Prowl be able to relax into something so overwhelming.

"Scenario two," Jazz says. "You tie me up on your berth and put a block on my sensors. Optical feed, audial, the works. Make me useless and take care of me. Maybe make me suck your spike while I'm like that, and walk me through what I'm doing with comms."

Prowl's field flickers out in contemplation, but - this is just warm-up. Scenarios to think about and plan and execute, not scenarios they'll overload just from thinking about.

"Could take it simple," Jazz says. "Pick a surface, frag on it - or let me suck your spike. Your plating is irresistible and you know it."

"Jazz," Prowl murmurs, and he laughs, lifting his fingers away from a ghosting touch over his back.

"Let me dance for you," Jazz says. "Sit you right down where you can watch me move, and I'll show you how flexible I really am. Give me a prop and I'll make you wish you could join me - and then I'll come and dance in your lap....but better yet," He purrs. "Better yet, let _me_ show you how to dance. Let _me_ have a seat in that chair, remotely controlling your frame, and let me show you how to move. You'll enjoy it, I promise, and better yet _you'll_ get to dance against my frame, put your hands right on my bumper and trace my headlights - "

Prowl's turned his head to look at him, field shifting into that desirable blend of contemplation and lust.

"And then?" Prowl prompts, and Jazz laughs, lost in his own thoughts.

"Then I show you how to dance on a spike," he says. "You think it feels good to be on the receiving end? It's _better_ when you're the one in control, working your hips and valves until you can't even tell where either of your overloads begin. Frag, but I want to do that to you. Show you that. If you'd let me, I'd drop right now and ride your spike, put my hands on your 'wings and make you overload, Prowl, please - "

"Not yet," Prowl says, and Jazz's engine revs.

"Right, right, want something a little more desperate? Wire my array so it's running a low-grade charge whenever you want, but lock it so I can't even touch myself."

Prowl's optics flare, and oh, yes, that's something he wants. Control, the loss of it - always a kink for his favorite mech.

"Close your optics," Jazz orders, tone getting lower, and Prowl's optics switch off. "Picture it: I'll be tied up on your berth, waiting for you to come to me, my charge so high I can't even think straight, and I'll be _kept_ that way, unable to escape my restraints or your toys and you can turn them on or off or make them go harder or faster - and when you _do_ come to me you'll use my valve, thrusting in at the pace you want, making me beg for it - if I even can beg, you could gag me - and you'll thrust over and over until I'm so desperate I'll do anything for you - "

Prowl groans, doorwings quivering.

"You won't even overload in me," Jazz continues. "You'll pull out before I get to feel that. You'll make me wear your transfluid as I beg, make me clean your spike and valve out, and then and only then will you even think about letting me overload. And - "

Here he drops his voice to a subvocal purr that Prowl has to strain to hear.

"You might not let me."

That does it: Prowl shudders, arching enough that Jazz has to move to avoid touching him, and he's grinning fiercely as Prowl overloads, turning onto his side as he gestures Jazz down to lie on his side facing him.

Prowl catches his face and kisses him deeply, pressing his chevron to Jazz's helm as he reaches down to push fingers into his valve, engine purring.

"I've made a file of these ideas," Prowl murmurs. "Think about which one you want to happen first."

"Already on it," Jazz says, gently touching his side, other hand curled against his torso, under his bumper as Prowl works his fingers in him. "Mmm - you really like making me wait."

"I do," Prowl says without any hint of an apology, and Jazz laughs as he overloads, curling forward into Prowl to cling to him, field content.

By the time he's drifting into recharge, Prowl's gotten up to clean up and return to duty...but he bends to kiss Jazz's helm before he leaves.

"Love you," Jazz calls, and feels Prowl's answer in his field, warm and affectionate.


End file.
